Blue Men
by TheJesusFreak777
Summary: On the second of May, 1998, Fred Weasley died, leaving a heartbroken family in his wake. In the years following, two of his brothers in particular struggle.
1. 1998

**CrowningAster is officially one of my favorite people on this site. I just want to say thank you to them for helping me with this and basically writing the entire plot. You have good ideas, my friend. This will be a four-part story.**

**To the rest of you-please say a prayer for me! I'm stressed to the max. Also, prayers to those being affected by ISIS. **

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**1998**

Ron counts his losses. It's easy to do, easier than it should be. His head throbs with the continual dull migraine. He sits in front of his desk, looking over the field, wondering.

Fred has been gone for two weeks. Ron counts his losses.

He tries to fill out his application for Auror training, but he can't keep his mind focused. He looks out his window and sees the summer. The blooming flowers and green grass. A storm brews in one corner of the horizon, angry gray clouds tumbling about in front of an endless expanse of blue. Even inside, the air is hot and sticky on his skin. But despite the humidity and heat, Ron is frozen.

Fred is dead. In his heart he knows it, but the rest of him hasn't been as keen on the uptake. He remembers Fred, with all his laughter. It's easier to use euphemisms. Fred is gone.

June, 1998. Fred has been gone for a month. He goes to George's flat to see how he is, because Mum was concerned for him. He knocks once, twice, and when no one answers, he pushes the door open. It's unlocked. Suddenly he fears the worst. Unlocked doors were only signs of the rooms Death had stood.

But Death is not inside. He picks over the bottles and crumpled papers to stand squarely in the living room. A witch sleeps on the couch. Ron stares at her. He doesn't recognize her. Noise in the kitchen jolts him, and he slips through the doorway to see. His brother, standing by the counter, the dishes doing themselves and his wand flicking to fry eggs on the stove.

"George?" Ron dares to whisper.

His brother flinches and the plate in his hand falls to the floor and breaks. "Bloody hell," he mutters. Ron had never heard those words leave his brother's mouth before. "How'd you get here?"

"Your door was open. Who the hell is on your couch?"

George lowers his eyes and mumbles something inaudible.

"Sorry?"

"I don't know," George repeats, louder, his head low in shame.

That was the instant Ron knew George was gone. He helps him clean the flat and they have dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron can't help but notice that George orders a firewhiskey.

July, 1998. Fred has been gone for a month and three weeks. Ron sees Mum crying in the field outside from his window, but he doesn't go to help her, to console her. His eyes are dry but he wishes he could feel something. He wishes he were no longer numb. There's nothing in this world that could appease his empty appetite. Nor competition nor love, nor friends nor drink.

Ron watches Mum cry, alone.

Ron bumps into Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson in Diagon Alley later that week. Angelina is all smiles. Lee offers to take them all to dinner.

"What are you doing here in London?" Lee asks.

"Auror training started," Ron explains.

"Ah," Angelina says. "I wondered if you'd went or not."

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I work at Gringotts now," Lee says. "Angelina's studying with Muggles."

"What?"

"I'm going to uni," Angelina explains. "I'm studying Muggle medicines, then I'm going to start Healer training."

"Are you two..." Ron pauses, and the air is heavy with his silent implication.

They laugh. "No," Lee says. "I'm engaged to Alicia Spinnet. Angelina is helping us with the wedding."

"Congratulations."

Lee lowers his voice. "You should go see George."

"Why?"

Lee shakes his head. It's enough of an answer for Ron's blood to run cold. He stands and quickly bids Lee and Angelina farewell. He jogs down the street to George's flat, the cobblestone streets hurting his shins, but he doesn't care. He knocks on the door. It's locked. After almost a minute, someone answers. It's George. Ron sighs with relief.

"Hello," George says. He blinks against the sunlight.

"I was wondering how you were doing."

"Why?"

He thinks back to Mum crying in the field. "You know why."

"I don't."

"Can I come in?"

"You're already here, aren't you?" his brother grunts.

He comes in and sits on the couch. The place is cleaner than it had been the last time Ron had been there, and as far as he could tell, there were no strangers abiding under the roof with them. He glimpses stacks of books sitting next to a shelf in another room.

"Been reading?"

"Yes," George answers vaguely.

"When are you opening the shop again?"

"Eventually," George says gruffly. "Look, I know you didn't come to see how I was. How much money does Mum need?"

Ron gapes at him. There had been times, yes, before the war that Fred and George had covered some of Mum's finances, but never so bluntly.

"Mum wants you to come home," he bursts out, against his better judgement. He rushes on, George staring at him warily. "She cries herself to sleep, George, and it'd be better if you were home for her."

"I'm not coming home," he says flatly.

Ron hates the feeling in his veins, like ice seeping into his bloodstream. He glares at his brother and stands.

"Have a good day." He slams the door in his wake.

July, 1998. It has been two and a half months. George forces himself to read Fred's obituary. He had cut it out of the Prophet in May but had never read the damn thing. Today he does.

Fred Weasley of Ottery St. Catchpole, aged 20, passed away Saturday, 2 May, 1998, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in the Battle of Hogwarts. Fred was killed as the result of a collapsing roof, with a broken neck and massive chest injuries.

A memorial service will be held on Monday, 4 May, at noon on Hogwarts grounds, with Professor Minerva McGonagall officiating. Calling hours will be 5 to 8.

Fred Fabian Weasley was born on 1 April, 1978, in Ottery St. Catchpole, to Arthur and Molly Weasley. He is survived by his parents, and siblings Bill, Charlie, George, Ron, and Ginny, and numerous other family members and friends. He is preceded in death by his uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett. He, alongside his twin brother George, founded Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. We will always remember his infectious humor and desire for justice.

George vomits in the sink, bile rising in his throat. His stomach heaves and sweat and tears run down his face. He doesn't know how long he stands there, but it must be a while. Had it taken Fred as long to die?

Who the hell wrote that?

Fred, dying alone.

He washes his face and picks up the first book he finds on his shelf. He'd taken to reading since Fred passed, and rarely left the flat. The words in books are rarely as harmful as the ones he hears outside.

The book is The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath. He hardly wants to read something as depressing as it and returns it to the shelf.

Fred was killed as a result of a collapsing roof.

He covers his mouth with his hand. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Hand shaking, he puts the obituary back into a folder and away in a drawer he prays he never has to open again.

August, 1998. Three months and six days. George sends owls to Verity and Oliver and Lee, his three most faithful employees, and asks if they'd like to open up the store, at least temporarily, for back-to-Hogwarts sales. Oliver says he'll try, but his wife is some eight months pregnant with their first child, and he has to juggle Quidditch practices.

"I can try to come," Oliver offers. "But the English National Team drafted me off Puddlemere for their reserve team. And the baby."

"Congratulations," George says, but he doesn't know how genuinely he means it.

"Thanks. Want to be the godfather?"

"What?"

"I've known you my entire life, be the godfather."

"Okay."

"His name is Henry."

"That's a good name."

Lee never replies to the owl, but he sees him at the Leaky Cauldron one day and runs to ask him about returning to work. Lee quickly replies yes, and then asks if he'd like to be his best man at his wedding.

George sees Verity as she leaves her flat. Her blonde hair is plaited with streaks of charcoal black and blue in it. Verity had always dabbled in the odder of Muggle ways. She dyes her hair unnatural hues and pierces her face. Verity was rebellious as a youth, she once explained. Her mother was a Pureblood supremacist. Her name perfectly describes her, in George's opinion.

"Can you come?"

Verity says she can, as she's currently working a job as a waitress in a pub in the heart of Muggle London, a job she hates. "They always get shit-faced and try to grope me. Of course I'll come back."

"Good."

"You know I miss you bastards," she says. She smiles. George falters. He notices she used "bastards" in the plural. There's only one of them now.

They open a week later, Oliver in purple robes but reeking of sweat and hard work after a Quidditch practice. Verity wrinkles her nose at him. Oliver and Lee discuss Quidditch as the set up the store.

Children filter in and out with their parents. Profits soar. Mothers tell George genuine thank-yous. George spends most of his time working, trying not to remember Fred in everything he does. Which is virtually impossible.

Ginny comes in on the thirty-first of August with Mum. It's her last year at Hogwarts. She smiles and helps George clean the register.

"How're things?"

"Good," he answers curtly, without pause.

"Good." He's relieved she doesn't press him about grief or Fred or any of the aftermath. The silence between them is healthy and comfortable.

They close the next day for the time being, because business is slow in the fall months. He tries to split the money earned with Lee, Oliver, and Verity, but they all refuse, save Verity. He doesn't understand why. Oliver breathlessly tells him he has to go check on his wife, who is due in three days before literally running out of the shop. Lee and Verity help him clean up.

"I'll send owls, maybe around November, to see about opening for the holidays, maybe?"

"Sounds good, Georgie-oh-boy," Verity says. It's what she used to call him. Georgie-oh-boy and Freddie-oh-man.

"You should talk to Angelina sometime," Lee throws over his shoulder as he leaves. "She's worried about you."

Verity takes her quarter of the profit and kisses his cheek before heading out. He takes the remainder of the money to Gringotts the next day.

October, 1998. Fred has been gone for nearly five months. Ron's Auror training is coming along very well. He finds his rank as the second so far in their class, behind a Norwegian witch who'd been recruited. He vows to overtake her by the end of the year. Harry is just behind him, with Neville unfortunately last.

They practice Spells and Charms and learn some. The instructors take them to the Thetford Forest in Norfolk one day and take their wands. They tell them to run on a trail for two hours. Harry tries to keep up with Ron, but Ron takes the lead with his long legs. He weaves in between the trees, dirt and gravel crunching under his feet. He breathes through his nose, feeling his lungs tighten. He stops half an hour in for air, gasping. He reties his shoes and takes off again.

He remembers running with Fred in his fifth year, when he played on the Quidditch team for the first time. Fred had easily outpaced him. His brother had always had a sharp tongue, but he knew when to encourage. When Ron fell behind, Fred would urge him on.

Ron's eyes burn. He ignores it. He's left alone with his thoughts. His lungs are on fire and it feels like someone is kicking his shins. Someone is holding a lit cigarette against his skin.

He coughs and splutters and stops beside a tree, mingled tears and sweat dripping down his face. He touches his shins and finds them swollen. Perhaps he has a stress fracture.

He wonders if Fred felt this, when he was dying. If he felt pain. Or maybe it was quick. He should feel sad and depressed that Fred didn't get the life he should have. Instead he pities himself.

He wipes his eyes and breathes. Then, he reties his shoes and keeps running.

November, 1998. Six months. George cleans his flat and sends owls to Verity, Oliver, and Lee for opening for the holidays. They meet in the deserted store and talk. Oliver's wife Poppy comes as well, with Henry. Poppy is very pretty, with long red hair and green eyes. Henry favors her. Dark circles ring her eyes, and she explains, "He cries all night." Oliver acts in ways George had never before encountered around his family. It's as if he has two modes. He doesn't want anyone coming very close to his son.

"Can I see him?" Verity asks anxiously, peering at Henry.

"Piss off, why don't you?" Oliver says quickly, stepping between his son and her. "Godric, Verity, he doesn't want to see you." George thinks he sees Poppy roll her eyes.

"So do you think we can open for the holidays?" George prompts.

"We've got a match coming up on Christmas," Oliver says. "Against the United States National Team."

"When do you go for the World Cup?"

"In August. It's going to be in Russia this year."

"My schedule at Gringotts is flexible," Lee says. "I can be here."

"So can I," Verity puts in.

"I'll try," Oliver offers.

December, 1998. Seven months Fred has been absent. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes grosses more than double what was expected. On Christmas George stays at the Burrow. He steps into his old room and immediately wants to puke. Here, where Fred and he had spent their entire lives, unmarred until May.

The room itself hasn't been touched since he'd last been here. Maybe no one could bring themselves to do it. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists, unclenches them. Again and again. He closes his eyes but can only see Fred's smile.

He flings open the door and steps out into the hall as swiftly as humanly possible. He runs right into Ginny. She leaps back. He flinches.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Yes," he says. He's not crying, but the adrenaline is in his head and he's sweating. He thinks he might pass out. He pushes past her, leaving her staring incredulously after him, a knot of bitter anger forming in his stomach. He runs downstairs and opens the door and races down the drive. He doesn't bother that here, there is snow on the ground, or the fact of him wearing expensive clothes. His chest is threatening to explode. His legs are so tired. Fred is gone. Fred is not coming back. His arms swing at his sides. Ginny doesn't know the shit he's done. He hadn't ran the drive since he was a boy. His chest is threatening to explode. His legs are so tired. Fred is gone. Fred is not coming back. His arms swing at his sides. Ginny doesn't know the shit he's done. He hadn't ran the drive since he was a boy. Chest exploding, legs tired, Fred gone, arms swing, Ginny doesn't know. He's not a boy anymore. Chest, legs, Fred, arms, Ginny, boy. Fred, dying under an explosion, nothing but a drowning man underneath fifty tons of rubble, dead Fred, Dead Fred, Fred dead, chest, legs, Fred, arms, Ginny, boy, the gray sky and death in the air, the lawn covered in ice.

Ron finds him, lying facedown in the snow. He turns him over and checks for a pulse. Ron tries to pick him up and carry him, but unfortunately he isn't strong enough to do that. He shakes him awake instead.

"Get off me," he mutters.

"What?"

"Get off me!" He shoves him, hard, and Ron tumbles backwards.

"What-"

"I'm bloody dying!" George yells, his voice cracking with emotion. It's dark, but Ron can hear the tears in his voice.

"George-" Ron gropes for the right word, stretching his mind out to the east and west to find something to say, but he comes up short.

"I'm dying!" It comes as a shout that dies in a whisper. Roughly he grabs Ron by the shoulder. "Kill me, Ron, please." He's sobbing now, dissolving in front of him. Ron swallows the lump in his throat.

"Kill me," George whispers. "Please."

Could he? "No," Ron says hoarsely. He steps away from him. "I can't."

Ron could have sworn he died that night. Part of him did, anyway. It had gotten to the point that his own brother was demanding he kill him.

Ron cries that night for them all, silently in his bed. He knows Harry, who shares the room at the moment, can hear. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Sleep finally snatches him with cold claws, and he dreams of Heaven, with Fred laughing and smiling.


	2. 1999

**To everyone who read the first chapter and was waiting on me to update, I'm sorry. I procrastinate...a lot. Thanks to CrowningAster again, because they're just really awesome. Go check out some of CrowningAster's stuff. **

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**1999**

January, 1999. It has been eight months and two days without Fred. George picks up The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath and reads it in four days.

_"The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence."_

He knows Sylvia Plath ended up sticking her head in an oven, but it doesn't stop him from feeling the pull of her words. He doesn't try to resist it. He is on the edge.

A suicide note. That's all the book is. He leaves it on a bench near his flat when he's done. He doesn't want it around him.

He leaves the flat and has lunch with Verity that day, because he hasn't seen anyone apart from his family in weeks. He orders stew and firewhiskey and they eat. Verity tells him about her adventures at the Muggle pub in the heart of London.

"And on New Year's," she says hotly, "they trashed the place. We had to call cabs for eighteen people! Found drugs in the bathroom, too." She sighs. "So how've your holidays been?"

"Good enough," he says briefly.

Verity sports a ring through her septum and electric blue hair this time. People look over at her and wonder. She attracts more attention than George would like.

"Why do you work with Muggles? How does the money transfer?"

"I'm working there so I can pay for my Witch Exchange Program next year," she explains. "I'm going to Argentina next year to help with my Ministry training, and the pub pays me, and then Gringotts exchanges it all."

"Nice."

"Yeah. So how've your holidays been?"

He thinks of the Christmas he spent at the Burrow and takes his time drinking before answering. "Fine." His tone warns her not to push the question.

She doesn't miss a beat. "Fine as in, 'The day is so pleasant I could die?'" She raises her eyebrows ever so slightly, and George feels a dead weight drop in his stomach.

"Who told you?" He tries to stop his hands from trembling but can't. But then he realizes: the only person who knows about that night is Ron.

"Ron told Lee and I," she says.

"Why," he says, "Why the fuck would he do that?"

"We're worried about you," she says simply. "Ron and Lee and I, and Oliver, too."

"Jesus," George says. "Does he know too?"

"No."

"I don't need you worrying about me," he says stubbornly. He sets several Sickles on the table and leaves.

February, 1999. Nine months have passed to the date. Ron, Harry, and Neville finish their training and move up as Aurors. He stands in a stiff uniform beside Harry and tries to contain his smile as the Daily Prophet takes photographs until Minister Shacklebolt calls, "At ease." He allows his pride to expand and fill his chest and turns sideways to grin crookedly at Harry and Neville. They reflect his own feelings. The cameras click for several more seconds before stepping away, and then Ron sees Hermione. She wears a woolen blue dress and black cloak. She smiles at him.

"Just a second," he promises Neville and Harry before weaving through the crowd to her. He slips his hand into hers.

"Congratulations," she says. He gives her a kiss on her cheek. "Your family's back there," she adds, pointing behind her, up several rows. He sees them: Ginny beside Mum, Dad and Percy here cheering, Bill and Fleur, even Charlie had came. He searches the crowd for the Twins before coming up short.

Not the Twins. George. George who is not here.

"Where's George?" Ron murmurs to Hermione.

"He couldn't come," she answers, and for the first time she doesn't meet his eyes. "He said he couldn't come."

The euphoria he'd been gliding on all day suddenly shatters underneath him.

"I stopped by his flat yesterday," Hermione explains, "to invite him. He's doing okay."

"Why couldn't he come?"

"He didn't say." Hermione's eyes flick over Ron's family behind them and back to him. "Look Ron, it's your day today. Don't worry about any of them, it's your day, and Harry's, and Neville's."

Ron smiles at her, but it's a bit forced. There's something melancholy in her eyes, and she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him. He smiles against her lips, and this time it comes naturally.

March, 1999. Fred left the world a little over ten months ago. It's almost been a year. George doesn't understand it. He stays inside and keeps the lights off, his headaches like an axe swinging into his skull. Oliver comes by alone one day to check up on him. "Guess what, George?" Oliver says cheerfully. It must be hard for him to sound so optimistic at the moment, George thinks.

"What?" He asks dully from where he lies on the couch, a pack of ice against his forehead and some medicinal herbs Neville had prescribed him in his fist.

"Henry's going to have another sibling."

George grins, but it hurts him. "Congratulations," he says weakly. Oliver, with two kids. "You'll raise two Quidditch captains."

Oliver laughs. "Yeah."

George swallows the leaves Neville had told him would relieve his migraines, and suddenly the silence becomes uncomfortable and sticky. Oliver clears his throat. "My sister's a Healer, you know, George, and Angelina's in training."

"No," he protests feebly.

"It'll help you, I'm sure," Oliver says earnestly.

"Please leave."

"You're going to be okay, George, but only if you let us help you," Oliver tells him before leaving. "I'll bring Henry with me next time?"

"That sounds good," George says, and Oliver softly closes the door behind him. George waits for his headaches to send him to sleep.

April, 1999. Eleven and a half months. It's crazy how much has changed since then. Ron sometimes goes an entire day without reflecting on the tragedy, but then he will guiltily realize what he's done. He dreads the day when he no longer remembers what Fred sounded like, or what he looked like.

The Auror Department is always crowded. New cases to take to Azkaban, former Death Eaters being wrangled in by the Ministry. Ron, Harry, and Neville are assigned older Aurors as their partners, being rookies. Ron is paired with a woman named Jane Farrow, who is around fifty. Farrow used to be as good as Mad-Eye and Shacklebolt, until she was hit by Sectumsempra, causing her to go deaf in one ear.

On Ron's first day in the field, he and Farrow must respond to a building collapse in Hogsmeade. A wizard is stuck underneath, trapped.

"Hold on, just a few more minutes," Ron pleas.

"I-I-I have to get out of here!"

"Hold on, don't move! Do you have your wand?"

"No!" He sounds panicky.

"Don't move! We'll have you out in a minute!"

Farrow is about to try the charm when a loud scraping noise sounds.

"Don't move!"

"I can't breathe!"

Farrow waves her wand just as a cloud of dust rises. They spring back to avoid it. The mound of rubble has changed.

"Are you there?" Farrow asks desperately.

There's no answer. Ron wonders if that was how it was for Fred. He cries as soon as he gets away from Farrow, in a bathroom at the Three Broomsticks. He pulls his pocket watch out of his pocket, staring at the gold chain before opening it. In the metal covering is a picture of his dead brother. He takes a deep breath and goes back outside to Farrow, hoping she can't see he'd been crying.

May, 1999. It's been three hundred sixty-seven days. The realization sinks in and George feels nothing but guilt that he's not yet been to the grave. But he doesn't want to see it, not really.

George sends out owls to Lee, Oliver, and Verity, to see if they would be interested in helping with reopening Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The four of them meet the next morning in the shop.

"The date for the wedding's set," Lee says. "On the ninth of July, Alicia and I will be married."

"Congratulations."

"Where at?" Verity asks curiously.

"Pardon?"

"Where are you getting married?"

"There's a church Alicia's mum goes to," Lee explains. "In Surrey."

"Are you going to invite us?"

"Of course," Lee says, startled.

"Can we start now?" Oliver asks impatiently. "I need to be getting home."

George marvels at how much Oliver has changed since Henry was born, but he doesn't remark on the matter. He tells them his plan of opening permanently, and they all heartily agree, Verity in particular.

"I'll need help cleaning up, getting products in, that sort of thing," George continues.

Lee pauses. "Permanently, for certain?

"For an indefinite amount of time."

Lee merely nods, his face screwed tight in concentration. "I'll be here tomorrow to help."

"Me too," Verity puts in. Oliver explains that he would, except for Poppy has an appointment and then he has Quidditch practice.

They stay true to their word and arrive the next morning at the shop. They work until the evening is setting into dusk, until the sun has bled out into the streets of London and Diagon Alley. They repeat the cycle every day for a week, before determining that they would open in one week, so they could advertise more.

Lee gives him a hug before he goes, and Verity stands on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. Then they're both gone, and George goes up to his flat and opens a whiskey.

June, 1999. Fred died a little over a year ago. It's the first time he's actually used the word "dead," even in his mind. One day Farrow sees the picture of Fred in his pocket watch, and bluntly she asks him if he's gay.

"He's my brother," Ron says, unabashed. "He's dead," he adds, and those two words barely escape his body. Farrow nods in understanding and doesn't say anything for a good ten minutes. Then, she says, "I just wondered if you were, you know, gay."

"I think I'm going to ask my girlfriend to marry me, actually," he says. "I'm planning on it for tomorrow."

"Good luck," she says. "My husband-he asked me twice before I said yes. Third time's a charm."

"I'd rather get her this first time," he replies truthfully.

"Let me see the ring."

He hands it over. She appraises it and nods. "She'd be a fool to say no."

The next day Ron is off work, and he takes Hermione to southwest London, to the botanical gardens. He feels the ring in his pocket and a fist of nervousness in his stomach. Hermione points out the different plants and the way the air is humid and the way Muggles are so smart for devising something like it (Ron barely knew how Muggles did anything; he had, in fact, not used a telephone in many years, so he just nodded when Hermione said that).

They're on a catwalk sort of thing overlooking the gardens, away from everyone else, when he realizes he hadn't thought the actual physics of the proposal out. His palms sweat. Finally Ron determines he'll probably vomit if he waits any longer. He gets down on bended knee, the way they do in the fairytales and Muggle movies.

"What are you doing, Ron? You'll get your pants dirty sitting on the ground like that-"

"Will you marry me?"

Ron sees tears in her eyes.

She laughs, but it sounds shaky. "Of course, Ron."

Ron smiles against her lips as he realizes he'll be spending the rest of his life with her.

July, 1999. One year and two and a half months since May last year. The shop has been bustling and busy since its opening last month. Lee reminds them of his ever-approaching wedding.

"Who are you going to the wedding with?" Oliver asks one day, when business is slow.

"Was I supposed to?" George asks blankly. "Who are you going with?"

"Um," Oliver says. "My wife."

"I don't remember your wedding," George says, frowning.

"We married during the war. Anyway, you can't show up at a wedding dateless."

In all of George's life, he'd never been told information like that, but he doesn't say so. He shrugs. "Whatever." But when the shop is closing, and Oliver and Lee have left, he awkwardly approaches Verity.

"Are you going to the wedding?" he asks. When she nods, he awkwardly asks, "Do you want to come with me?" He instantly regrets the words, wants to rip them back from the air.

She blinks, and then smiles. "Yeah," she says. "I'd like that."

July, 1999. The invitation owl comes to Ron first, and Hermione second. In stylish script, it reads:

_You are hereby invited to celebrate the wedding of Alicia Spinnet and Lee Jordan on July the Ninth, at three o'clock. _On the back of the invitation is the address of the church they're getting married in.

They go to the wedding. It's beautiful. The church is small and reminds Ron of some of the buildings in Ottery St. Catchpole. He's surprised to see George there, but then he wonders why he should be. George and Lee are close. They listen to Alicia and Lee exchange vows, and then they smile and clap their congratulations. At the reception, when they all shake hands with the bridal party, George grips Ron's wrist.

"Why'd you tell them?" he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear.

"I-" Ron knows what he means, even without saying it. Telling Lee and Verity about Christmas. He can see the betrayal in George's eyes.

"You're a bastard," George says, and his voice is louder. Lee glances over uncertainly, as do several others standing nearby. Lee puts an arm around George and the other around Alicia. "Come on," he says. "Let's take a picture." He gives Ron a hard look, but something inside Ron can't be quelled.

George shakes off Lee's arm and stands nose-to-nose to his brother. "Keep the hell away from me."

"You've got problems," he says, and it comes out scathing. He wishes there was a way to verbally express his anger and sadness and frustration all at once, but there's not one. He wishes he could forget Fred, but the other half of him is holding on.

"Ron-" Hermione begins, but Fred is faster. Ron sees his fist before it hits him, right in the eye, and then he is sprawled on the floor, and Hermione emits some sort of shriek, and Alicia looks horrified, and Ron can't help but think of how awful of a wedding this is.

Lee helps him off the ground and murmurs in his ear, "Please leave."

So they do.

September, 1999, and Fred and George's business is booming, despite the hiatus. George hasn't talked to Ron ever since the wedding, but Hermione did stop by to apologize for his behavior, and George expressed his own halfhearted regret for giving Ron a nasty shiner. He apologizes to Alicia and Lee as well, but he doesn't know if they forgive him. Nevertheless, Lee stays with him at the shop.

"Alicia's mum has cancer," Lee says, on a slow day.

"What?"

"At least, they think so. Cervical cancer. She's a Muggle. She's got good chances, they think."

"That's good."

"Yeah." But he can tell Lee has things on his mind, and suddenly George feels bad for he and Alicia.

Verity and Oliver stay to close the store up for him, before she turns to them and asks if they'd like to go into Muggle London to watch a new film with her. Honestly, Verity dabbles too much with Muggles. But Oliver says he needs to go home with Poppy and Henry, especially since his new daughter will be here in around two months. So George goes with Verity to see some Muggle film about organized crime, which they thoroughly enjoy. He walks her home, to her flat. He stands in the hallway of her building as she turns around and says, "I had fun."

"Me too," he says.

"We'll have to do it again sometime."

He kisses her. Her mouth tastes like vanilla and popcorn. It's the first time in nearly a year he's kissed someone. She kisses him back. He seems to float all the way home.

October, 1999. One year and five months Fred has been dead. Ron and Hermione send out wedding invitations. The date is set for 12 December, 1999. Ron only hopes it fairs better than the last wedding he went to.

He walks in a park on his lunch break. Muggles are here and there, but they pay no mind to him, and he's thankful. Ron stares at the bony branches of the trees, their reflections on the River Thames. It's very lucky Fred didn't suffer too long. It's good Fred died quick. Ron's seen enough in his short stint as an Auror to know long deaths are worse.

Ron finishes his lunch and heads back to work.

November, 1999. A year and a half. The shop is making more money than ever, and George hires several more workers, but Lee, Verity, and Oliver remain his most trusted employees. He and Verity have continued dating. They snog in the back of the cinema where they first went together and shag in the storeroom. They go watch Oliver play Quidditch and go to see more Muggle film noir. And for the first time in eighteen months, George is genuinely happy.

On Sundays, when the shop is closed and he's in his flat, he brews different potions for something of experiments on himself, to attempt to wipe away the excess pain he feels. He takes Draught of Peace and chews hellebore leaves. The effect is almost instantaneous, taking him on top of the world for a good time before he falls back into a pit deeper than hell, his energy and life gone. It leaves vile tastes in his mouth and he normally gags. He ends up losing some ten pounds from it in a week. He goes into Muggle London to see if he can get anything for depression, and he ends up walking home with a small plastic jar of Zoloft. Once a day, either in the morning or evening, the label reads, 25 milligrams. So he takes a pill and lies back down, and goes to sleep. The next morning he hides it from Verity.

December, 1999. Ron and Hermione marry in a ceremony at the Burrow, not unlike Bill and Fleur. Ron's never been more nervous for anything in his entire life, which seems ridiculous. Hadn't he fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, watched his friends die, and live in a tent for nearly a year? Hadn't he broken into Gringotts? He tries to tell himself that a wedding is easy in comparison, but it doesn't ease the knot in his stomach.

He suddenly wonders how different things would be if Fred were still around, and if Fred had attended the wedding, and if he would be marrying Hermione if he were alive. But these thoughts fly out the window as Hermione walks up the aisle.

They exchange their vows and then kiss, and Ron and Hermione are too elated to notice George is absent.


	3. 2000

**Part 3 of 4. I'll admit the pacing is off in this chapter. Pacing is one of my weaknesses. It slows down towards the end, and the next chapter will be the very last one. I'm still debating how to go about writing it, so if you have any suggestions please tell me. Special thanks to CrowningAster, who basically came up with this story and gave me inspiration for this chapter. Please review!**

* * *

**2000**

New Year's, 2000. Roughly a year and eight months since Fred passed on. It has been 2000 for one second, ten seconds, thirty, one minute.

George and Verity go down Diagon Alley to watch fireworks. Every New Year, save last year's, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shoots fireworks for advertising and as a celebration. Lee and Seamus, who had volunteered, handle the pyrotechnics of it this year, while everyone else go down to the Leaky Cauldron to watch. Tom, aging in his years, stands to greet everyone with a toothy grin. They stand outside for the fireworks to start, and George notices Ron and Hermione standing not ten meters away with Harry and Ginny. George tries not to look at them.

When the fireworks begin, the rockets shooting vibrant pinks and golds across the sky, Ron could have sworn he shit himself. The bangs and pops and loud booms. He flinches. "Great Merlin!" Hermione's lips press to his as the crowd cheers for the new millennium. They hold hands watching the firecrackers fizzle and then explode.

Ron sees George. There is no blood in his face, no color. He is as pale as alabaster. He stands with a woman Ron vaguely recognizes but can't put a name on.

Bang. Ron flinches. George can see it. His brother tenses up. George watches the sky light up into the Hogwarts crest, and he himself shudders as it dissolves with an incendiary boom.

Ron stares, rapt, at the sky, his legs glued to the ground. He winces. He doesn't hear Hermione until she stands and screams into his ear, "DO YOU WANT TO GO IN?" He sees concern in her eyes, and he nods feverishly before she leads Harry, Ginny, and he into the Leaky. Ron sits in a leather seat next to the window, shaking as he hears the rockets. Harry and Hermione go to get them food, and Ginny slides into the booth across from him, a sympathetic look on her face. "Are you okay?"

He shakes his head. No. No, he's not okay. Ginny opens her mouth to say something, but Hermione and Harry return with butterbeers, and Ginny decides not to speak. Her eyes bear holes into him, and instinctively he turns his gaze away from her.

He's married now. He is happy. He can let things go, right?

George watches him from outside before heading back to his flat. He's quite happy to get away from the lights and noise, and he bids Verity a farewell and Happy New Year. He takes Zoloft and drinks Draught of Peace before he goes to sleep.

February, 2000. One year and nine months. Valentine sales and chocolate boxes. Dinner at a Muggle restaurant Verity loves. Oliver and Poppy vacation in a wizard town in the Bahamas with their two children. Lee and Alicia go to Canterbury for the weekend to visit Alicia's mum.

George buries his grief for the time being in the cleft of his heart before turning to face the world, smiling like nothing had happened.

March, 2000. Ron, Farrow, and Harry are assigned a murder case of intricacies and a woven net of false evidence. The stress is almost overpowering at work. It comes as a relief when Ron goes home. He opens the door to his and Hermione's house-he still can hardly fathom he is actually married-and is met with a mix of decadent aromas. Hermione stands in the kitchen over pots and pans. She turns and smiles. "Come and help me."

His feet, which hurt like demons from the pits of hell, scream in protest, but he manages to give a tired smile. "Of course." He steps into the kitchen and kisses her before rolling up his sleeves.

"Don't forget to get an apron," she says, almost chastising, pointing to one hanging on a chair. Ron picks it up and unfolds it before stopping to stare at the green words stitched into the fabric.

Best Dad Ever.

"Oh my God." And suddenly Ron's feet don't hurt and he's no longer aware he hasn't slept in some twenty hours. "You're pregant? We're having a baby? We're having a baby!"

He spins her around, right there in the kitchen, and kisses her. He's going to be a dad. And suddenly nothing matters except for that.

April, 2000. Nearly two years have passed since Fred died. George and Verity have been dating for eight months. They get caught in a spring shower in London and take shelter underneath a bridge in a park and wait for the rain to pass. To George her kisses are a better cure than Zoloft and Draught of Peace combined.

"I love you," he says softly.

"I love you too."

He'd never told anyone he loved them before, apart from Mum, which is entirely different. Never in a million years had he thought he would say the words to Verity, but here he is. And the rain comes down as hard as ever, and it almost feels like they're in one of the Muggle romances Verity likes to watch. They kiss and George forgets his brother and the world for the first time in nearly two years.

The next day George walks with a pep in his step. Lee eyes him warily from the register. "What's with you today?"

"Nothing," George says, but he can't stop smiling.

"Quit giving me that freakish grin," Lee says. "Merlin. I haven't seen you smile in ages. Are you happy?"

"Just about," he says cheerily.

"I guess the smiles are a step up from moping around," Lee observes. George rolls his eyes, but he realizes that it's true. He hasn't felt this good since Fred was alive.

May, 2000. Baby names and pastel pinks and blues. Ron holds hands with Hermione in the waiting room at St. Mungo's. Nervous. Nervous. They haven't even been married a year. The baby will be here roughly the time of their anniversary.

Nervous. Twitchy.

When the midwitch opens the door and smiles politely and amiably, they stand up and follow her back to a room. "How far along are you?"

"Nine weeks."

The Healer nods. "I'm just going to see how healthy your baby is. This is perfectly regular." She holds out her wand and touches it to Hermione's belly. The tip of her wand turns white. The midwitch frowns. "I'll be back in just a second."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Sometimes it's hard to detect a heartbeat this early," she says reassuringly. "We just don't want it to be anything serious."

Ron holds Hermione's hand as they wait, silent. Several minutes later a different Healer comes. He performs the same test with his wand on Hermione.

"I'm sorry," he says. "This happens often with first time mothers in the first trimester-"

"What happens?" Ron interrupts.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "You've miscarried. It's common during the first trimester. Give it a few months before you try again. I'll just leave you two here, if you need some time."

The door opens and closes, but Ron's numb. As soon as he's gone, Hermione falls in his arms, crying. Ron still feels like ice.

When they finally get home, Ron glimpses the date on the calendar. May 2. The day Fred died. How fitting. He holds Hermione as she cries, and when the situation finally dawns on him, he feels blue, a shade of midnight so dark he may just disappear into the night.

July, 2000. Two years and one month. George takes to Shakespeare. _Julius Caesar, The Taming of the Shrew, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet_. "You know Shakespeare was a Squib?" Verity asks. Which he hadn't known.

_"My only love sprung from my only hate."_

He tries not to mull over Shakespeare's words, but he ends up doing so anyway.

Ron comes in the shop at noon. His presence is enough to unbalance the facade George had built around himself in the two years since Fred's death. Oliver and Lee cast uneasy glances toward him and then George, whose fists were clenched at his side.

"Get out of my store," George says, surprised at the intensity in his own voice.

"George-"

"Get out!"

In his eyes, Ron had made a mockery of his suicide attempt. He opens wounds that were just beginning to heal today. He glares at his brother.

"You don't understand," Ron pleas, but Lee cuts him off.

"Come on, Ron. I'll go with you." And not for the first time is George thankful for Lee. Of course, if George had listened to Ron, maybe he would understand now.

Lee returns an hour later, somber. "You could give him a chance," he tells George.

August, 2000. Two years and three months ago, Fred passed away. George has to sneak out to Muggle London to refill his Zoloft prescription. He feels bad for keeping it from Verity, but what would she do if she knew? Probably have a fucking heart attack. He'd no doubt lose the best thing-the only good thing-that's happened to him since the war. So he keeps the tin of Zoloft and the corked bottle of Draught of Peace hidden in his sock drawer.

At dinner Verity mentions going to Argentina to finish her Ministry training. George stops chewing his food. "Are you sure?"

"About what?"

"About going to Argentina."

She pauses. "No," she says.

"If you want to go you should."

"Do you mean that?"

And he doesn't, he knows he doesn't. He doesn't answer.

For some reason she looks upset. "What?" he asks.

"You could say something."

"I thought I did."

"I liked you better when you told jokes," she says.

"Blimey," he says, an edge to his voice. "You love making me feel bad, don't you?"

She throws him a hard look before standing. "Forget it. I'll see you tomorrow."

September, 2000. Ron and Farrow are called to investigate a scene in which a child went missing. The case was originally reported through Muggles, but closer inspection reveals magic was involved. Ron and Farrow go to the town in Surrey. The house is empty apart from investigators. Ron and Farrow lead a crew of five other Aurors into the building, and are immediately hit with the stench of death.

"This isn't good," Farrow comments. She pushes open the heavy iron door and steps inside. "Lumos." She leads them down a hall, the carpet damp underneath their feet, the air heavy and frigid. She comes to a door ripped from its hinges. Ron feels his heart begin to beat faster against his ribcage.

Farrow steps through the door and there's the sound of breaking glass. "Great Merlin!" Ron quickly enters the room, the other Aurors behind him. The first thing he sees is Farrow staring, wide-eyed to a corner in the room. Her wand has fallen on the floor, its tip still glowing but illuminating little. Ron swings his own wand towards the corner, and he feels the others lean forward in dread and anticipation.

As soon as Ron sees it, he wishes he hadn't. He pushes his way out, through the others and down the hall without seeing where he's going. He hits his head off the wall at one point in the dark but doesn't stop until he's outside in daylight. He bends over and retches, acid and bile filling his throat.

Neville comes outside a few moments later and helps him up. "We need to go back in," he begins, but Ron shakes his head fervently. "I'm off this case as soon as we get back."

Ron takes off work the next three days before being called in to see Wren Vonner, the Head of the Auror Office. She took over after the War ended. She's a young woman, with thick black hair and dark skin, probably only a few years older than Ron himself. She sits behind her desk with the Daily Prophet in hand. Harry, who had quickly risen through the ranks to become her deputy, sits in a chair in front of her.

"Sit," Vonner says, her voice terse. When Ron glances around and realizes there are no more chairs, she gives an impatient wave of her wand and one appears. He sits down. "I suppose you know why you're here?"

"No, not exactly."

She picks up the Prophet. "You've been mentioned," she says. "'In Esher, Surrey, the bodies of five murdered Muggle children were discovered this week, as told to the press yesterday by Auror Jane Farrow, who is heading the investigation. The children seem to be aged between six years old and twelve years old, and appear to have been killed by a werewolf, perhaps by a follower of the dead Fenrir Greyback as a show of Pure-blood supremacy.'" She pauses and gives him a stern look. "Is that what you saw?" Ron nods, and she continues. "Listen closely. 'Some have expressed their worry of the rumors that Auror Ron Weasley, who received a Order of Merlin, First Class, for his work in the Second Wizarding War, had vomited upon entering the scene and has demanded that he be removed from the case. Is it wise on Vonner's part to allow Aurors as damaged from the War as Weasley certainly is to continue working in the Auror Office?'" She closes the newspaper and folds her hand. "Do you think it's wise for me to allow you on the field?" she asks.

Harry opens his mouth to defend him, but Ron stops him with a glare. Is it wise for him to be an Auror? The whole time when he walking into that house, the carpet damp with water or blood or something under his feet, he had thought of Hermione and how he hadn't told her he loved her that morning. And when he saw them... His child. His dead, unborn child.

"I want to put in my resignation."

"You can't do that!" Harry exclaims.

Even Vonner briefly looks surprised, but she quickly hides it. "I wasn't implying that," she begins, but Ron cuts her off.

"This isn't about that article," he says. "I have a family."

Harry is shaking his head, but Vonner ignores him. "I'll have the papers to you by the end of the day, if it's what you want. You'll have to work until January."

"That's fine."

Harry doesn't look at him as he leaves, but Ron knows there are more important things than this job, even if Harry doesn't understand yet.

November, 2000. It has been two years and five months since Fred died, and it's the first time George has forced himself to use the word "died" concerning his twin. Ron stopped counting the days ages ago, but George doubts he'll ever stop. Ever since he and Verity had first gone to Muggle London, George has been using antidepressants and Draught of Peace in increasing dosages. He keeps firewhiskey and mead and rum hidden in his cupboard and he drinks it when he's home by himself.

He has a diamond ring in a little black velvet box he keeps in his pocket. He has dinner reservations at Berners Tavern, one of the finest restaurants this side of London. He meets Verity there at eight o'clock.

"Hello," he says, and he kisses her. She looks stunning and his hands fidget with the box in his pocket.

"Hello," she returns, smiling, although it seems somewhat forced. A waiter comes by and takes their orders. "How are you doing?" she asks.

"Good."

They eat and drink fancy wine and George is overly-conscious of his plans for tonight. The food doesn't sit well with him and neither do the drinks.

"So," she says, "I decided to accept the commute to Buenos Aires."

George drops his fork onto his plate, and it clatters loudly. He stares at her. "You're serious?"

"I am," she says, her voice as quiet as the night.

"I love you," he says, matching her tone. "You know that." His voice grows stronger. "I love you more than anything and you're going to put me through this shit!" A Muggle at another table glances over but says nothing.

"I found it," she says hollowly.

"Found what?"

"The alcohol, the antidepressants, the potions." Her voice shakes. He turns his head away, quivering with anger.

"Weren't you ever going to tell me?" she asks, and he forces himself to look at her. She's crying. She looks small and delicate and frail and tears run down her face and he closes his eyes. His world is ending.

"I thought you were over those," she whispers. "I thought you were done with those. Why didn't you say something?"

"I-I couldn't."

"Were you just going to wait until we were married?" She sounds angry and heartbroken and he wants it to stop.

"No," he insists. "I swear I was going to tell you."

"You're lying."

"Please," he begs. "I love you."

"I've already told them," she says. "I leave in a week."

"I'll go to Argentina with you," he says desperately.

"I'm sorry, George," she says, and she's still crying. "I can't trust you anymore. You need help."

He stands quickly and leaves, knowing it's futile to stay. He feels the little black velvet box with the engagement ring in his pocket and closes his eyes.

December, 2000. Ron and Hermione celebrate their anniversary and Harry and Ginny become engaged on Christmas Eve. They stay at the Burrow for Christmas, as Molly and Arthur seem to be growing frailer after Fred's death. The day after Christmas, Ron heads to Diagon Alley with Hermione, Harry, and Ginny to visit Lee and Alicia, who had invited them over for the holidays. Oliver is there as well with his wife and two children, as well as Angelina. They all smile and eat food and talk.

At some point, Ron and Lee are the only ones in the kitchen. Lee clears his throat. "Go see George."

Remembering the disastrous events that occurred the last time he saw his brother, Ron shakes his head. "No way."

"He's got the blues," Lee says. "Honestly, it's like when Fred died."

"What happened?"

"He's drinking again."

Ron lowers his eyes. "Mum's really worried for him. She hasn't seen him in probably two years."

"He's at his flat," Lee says. "I checked on him today, poured all the gin down the drain. You've went through bad things, you can help him."

So Ron reluctantly heads down Diagon Alley to see his brother while mentally bracing himself for getting a broken nose. He hesitates for a long moment in front of George's door before knocking.

The door opens and Ron braces himself. George blinks at him. "Hello."

That's better than getting hexed. "Hi George."

"What are you here for?"

"Hermione and I were in the neighborhood." It's freezing out.

"I feel bad," George says. "What was it you came by to tell me in July? I feel awful about it, actually."

"Hermione had a miscarriage," Ron says, and his mouth is dry. "Earlier this year."

George's eyes shadow. "My girlfriend broke up with me the day I was going to propose." He laughs, but it sounds harsh. "Funny, isn't it?"

Maybe it would be funny tomorrow, but Ron doesn't say so. "We're at Lee's. You should come out."

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "Look, Ron, I'm sorry about all this."

"Come on home," Ron says. "Mum and Dad have plenty of room. Ginny and Harry are engaged now, you know."

"I didn't."

"Well, now you do, so come on."

"I'll think about it." He shrugs again. "You know, I think I'm going to have to close the store. I don't have many employees around, with Oliver's career taking off and Verity leaving."

"I'll come help with it," Ron offers. "Unless you don't want me to," he adds hastily.

"Don't you have a job?"

"I resigned."

"Of course you did," George says. "I'll think about it."

"Come to Lee's with us. Ginny wants to see you."

"I'll be out in an hour or so. I need to clean up."

George stays true to his word, and while they eat he arrives, bundled up in a coat. He smiles at them and gives Ginny a hug and sits down with them. Hermione smiles at Ron from across the dinner table, and somehow he knows Fred would be here, telling jokes and being the center of it all. He wonders what Fred would say about the miscarriage, about his resignation, about George. He wonders if they would still look alike today, if they would still tease him for having Hermione when he certainly didn't deserve her.

But now Ron closes his eyes, thankful just to have them together today.


	4. 2001

**A/N: I know there's a change in tone at the end but it's because I wanted a happy ending.**

* * *

**2001**

January, 2001. It has been two years and seven months since Fred died.

"This is the forked tongue of grief again. It whispers in one ear: return to what you know best, and in the other ear it whispers, move on." It's a quote that appears in the Prophet on New Year's, probably because New Year's is when everyone jumps off bridges and offs themselves. And for the first time, it's easier for George to find a new routine rather than follow his old schedule of considering just that, liquid courage in a flask in one hand. He cuts the quote out and tapes it to his door, so he'll always see it before heading downstairs to work.

George still writes to her. He tells her he is sober now, that he's free from the burden of his sorrows. He says that maybe, when she comes back, he'll be a thousand days clean, and he'll still be waiting for her at the store. Waiting for a miracle, for Fred's resurrection, for irrefutable truth.

Verity only replies once, and she tells him she loves him enough to let him go. She says she's happy where she is, with her feet moving from Argentina now to a remote village in Guatemala. She's met a missionary and found her true calling in helping the less fortunate. It takes George time, but he finds that he loves her enough to let go, too. But he'll never be able to do that with Fred. He's too selfish, too demanding, yearning for another day with his brother.

Ron needs his family as much as he does oxygen. He sometimes sees Hermione crying, and sometimes he does himself, but in private where she can't see. He needs to stay strong for her, even though it's been seven months since the Healer told them the news. Ron barely stays afloat, bobbing on the waves. Seeing a baby in a park is enough to make him clench his fists, his hands tight with the knowledge of a life he could've been living.

February, 2001. Ron officially resigns. He dreams that he's drowning in a vast expanse of sand, the Sahara swallowing him whole. In his dream he sinks to the very bottom of the desert, the bedrock opening up to an enormous cavern. He falls into a giant clear pool of water, and when he looks over, it's an enormous Pensieve. Then Harry as a giant comes, and he stirs the vat with his wand. Ron wakes up sweating, uncertain of what the dream could mean, if anything at all.

Hermione's still asleep, undisturbed. She looks so peaceful, and Ron wonders how this could be the woman he's married to. In her waking hours she's depressed and angry at fate.

"I love you," he whispers, but he knows she can't hear him. He sighs. In the space of nearly three years, his life has changed so much. Fred is dead. He's married now. He's already lost a child, quit his job, bought a house.

He's far too young to get gray hairs-only twenty-one. Yet there one is. He sighs.

He grew up too fast.

March, 2001. It's been two years and nine months. Work around the shop has gotten easier with Ron working, although George is still on less than perfect terms with him. They'd both said and done things to each other but they don't bring them up. It would be sin to push someone down after you just helped him up.

"So," Oliver muses one day, "I think it's quite time to get George a woman. What do you think, Lee?"

George shook his head as Lee answered, "I couldn't agree more."

"I'm good," George says levelly as he straightens a shelf.

"You can't be serious. All of your mates are already married."

"I'm celibate," he says with a grin, and Ron snorts.

It feels good to joke, to laugh, to smile. He hasn't done much of it since Fred had died, and even less still since Verity left. But as soon as the conversation ceases George feels the day hanging on him like a dead weight.

He wonders if Fred knows he's alive and struggling, but then he realizes Fred can't exist beyond his memory. He's not religious. He's not anything, really.

When the shop closes for the evening George heads down to the Leaky Cauldron and sits at the bar. He only orders a butterbeer this time as the rest tempt him. Tom must have hired more work, because a blonde witch gives him his drink with a flirty smile.

"Thanks," he says, giving a reserved nod. She gets the hint and leaves him alone. He wonders what Lee and Ron and Oliver would do, given their earlier conversation, but then he decides he doesn't care much.

The next night he visits Mum. She's a wreck when he arrives and starts crying. "George!" she says tearfully, hugging him. It makes him wish he hadn't came, but he gives a grudging smile and lets her cook him dinner.

"You've gotten so much older since I last saw you," Mum says.

"Don't remind me," he says sharply, but he smiles. Mum smiles too, and he's glad she doesn't ask him anything about Verity. Ron surely told her. He gives her a kiss before he goes and says hello to his father. He sees something else in Arthur's eyes. Pain. He tries to hides it with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

April, 2001. Ron has lunch with Harry one day.

"How's work?" Ron asks as they eat.

"It's doing well. I'm on a solo case."

"That's exciting."

"Yeah. New Aurors came in, too. They're cocky and full of themselves."

"Like us?" Ron asks smartly.

"We fought a war," Harry retorts. "We had reason to. They haven't done anything but training. How's your work going?"

"It's alright." He lowers his voice. "George is still depressed."

"He should see someone."

"We're trying to get him to, but no luck."

"Is he going to the memorial?"

"I doubt it."

"Ask him."

"He'll say no."

Even so, Ron debates asking him because George needs to Fred's grave. Maybe he'll be better after that, and maybe it'll chase the ghosts out of his head. He knows about the break up and how all of it's hurt him.

May, 2001. Three years. It has been three years since Fred died.

George succumbs to the temptations and drinks a bottle of firewhiskey. He's going mad. He's hollow inside and filling up with booze and sorrow. He spends the next day drying out and staring at old pictures of him and Fred. Fred winks up at him from a photo and it makes George want to die.

Ron comes by. "You missed the memorial service," he says, but he trails off at the sight in front of him. George dying. George barely holding on.

"Can we go?" he barely chokes out.

Ron knows better than anyone else. Ron understands. They travel by Floo to Hogwarts the next morning. Professor McGonagall welcomes them with a nod, her face devoid of all emotion but grief. She looks tired and somber and no doubt the memorial service yesterday, on the anniversary, took something out of her.

"You know the way," she says to Ron.

He leads George down a path by the lake to where a large obelisk had been erected. He stares at it, hands shaking. Ron helps him down.

"Are you okay?" Ron asks urgently.

George nods, his throat tightening. He gazes down to the monument, the names inscribed black as obsidian against brilliant snow. He stumbles down the path until he stands a foot from it. Trembling, he finds him. He finds his brother.

_Fred Weasley_

Tears stream down his face and he allows himself to emit a sob. He covers his mouth. "Merlin. Oh God, oh God." The words are barely decipherable, scarcely audible from his crying. "Oh God."

Ron touches his shoulder, and he's grateful. He needs him, he needs him and Ginny and Percy and Bill and Charlie and Mum and Dad more than anything. He sits down unsteadily beside the monument, tears spilling down cheeks and through his hands. The air feels like Inferno, a frozen ice hell in the beginning of summer, and there is nothing he feels but a numbness that somehow hurts more than anything else.

"He's dead," he weeps.

"Come on, George," Ron says, supporting him. "Come on, let's go home."

He's still a mess, nothing more than a puddle, really. He allows Ron to help him back to the castle. Students peer at him with shadowed eyes, uncertain. Hagrid stands in the entrance with Professor McGonagall, openly crying.

"Come on, George," Ron says gently. He opens the door to the room they had come through. "Come on, sit down. We're just going to use Floo to get back to the Burrow."

He's sober today. He wipes his face and holds his breath as they jump through the fireplace to the Burrow.

He's home. He's finally home. And when he finally stops crying, he feels nothing but a peace, a serenity, a calm inside.

* * *

**2003**

George is pacing.

"You'll be fine," Ron says, but George pays no mind.

"It's easy," Ron says. "All you've got to do is repeat the priest."

"I'm not ready to get married! I've gone mad!" George exclaims.

"No, you haven't. And don't you dare get cold feet out there," Ron adds. "You've both been through enough to know this is right."

"You're right," George says, taking a deep breath. Then he shakes his head. "Great Merlin, this is mad."

"It's fine." Ron laughs. He's never seen George like this before.

"You have the rings?"

"I do. I'm supposed to give them to you at the altar, when the priest starts talking about them."

George takes a deep breath. He's gone through so much worse, hasn't he? He'd survived Quidditch matches, survived a war, outlived alcoholism. Getting married should be a cinch, right?

The song begins playing. "I can't do it!" George hisses.

"Go," Ron says. "You can do this. You love her."

"I love her," George repeats under his breath. He pushes open the swinging door and walks down the aisle, Ron following. Ron stands behind him at the altar, and then they wait for his bride. George pauses for a heartbeat and glances back at Ron. "Thanks," he mutters.

The Wedding March begins, and Ron knows there's no time to answer verbally. He just nods, smiling.

Ron counts his losses. This time, he comes up with zero.


End file.
